Bog SideĀ 

Bog Side

Enough peat cloisters here

To last a dozen summers.

Faced upward in rust-brown robes,

It clusters at the viewing in

Spring coffins of morn.


I observe them bog side as

Every ode to life must do:

In reverence, at water’s edge,

Mosquito & dragonfly

Humming requiems & eulogies

To sparse congregants in

Sharp shades of lime,

Cognizant of time

Descending as a shadow,

Prepping for a Second Coming.




An old plank road

Thumping underfoot.

Nailed curves twisting,

Stretching like the form

of your hips to some endpoint

Where allusions of you evanesce

Into a mess of thickets and brush.